Memories of hell
by NancyMay
Summary: An Alice story that came to me while watching season 3 'Women and Children'. The idea that Alice was abused as a child has been visited before but this deals with the aftermath of the accusations in the episode.


Alice pulled onto the drive. It had been a hell of a day, it had been a hell of a few days, in fact.

Prominent surgeon murdered, recriminations, stories of his womanising and accusations; suggestions she had been complicit. Urgh!

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Nobody would have denied there was an atmosphere in the morgue when May Orton had come in to identify her estranged husband's body. Her disgust at Alice's presence was palpable, and Alice's rigid stance spoke volumes.

Then it had all come out. Orton's womanising, his relationship with Sister Lambert, the fact that he had propositioned Alice.

Alice had to admit, with hindsight, it had not been a good idea to tell Orton's wife the truth about her husband. She had been angry, caught off guard by the phone call, and tired of the tiptoeing round the situation.

When Munro had called her in to the station she had no idea he would interview her as a suspect with the added embarrassment of Dr Blake sitting in and hearing that Orton had made unsolicited advances towards her and that her complaint had been dismissed as that of a repressed female. When Lucien had insisted he speak to Munro outside she had, at first, been relieved, then disappointed when Lucien left. Well, maybe not disappointed, more saddened. She supposed he couldn't bear to see and hear his colleague further humiliated. She hoped he had that much respect for her. She would have been greatly heartened to know he had even more respect than that for Alice. Lucien had grown to admire his pathology registrar for the highly intelligent and forthright woman she was.

She had sat outside the station with Lucien, trying so hard not to break down and weep unashamedly. Terrified that this would be the final reason for the board to sack her. She had encountered so much animosity, so much derision for her desire to do the right thing, for her ambition, throughout her working life, just because she had the misfortune to be born a woman. She was proud to be a woman in a man's world. As she said to Blake, she was good at her job. 'Bloody brilliant' would have been his description. Blake was the only one who saw her for what she was, an excellent scientist, and she in turn found him a dedicated and driven surgeon. When he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, a tender but not romantic move, she had not recoiled. In fact, she had come to know him so well, he was the only man she would allow to touch her, the way he touched everyone, in an, almost, fatherly manner.

Then there had been the discovery that it was one of the ambos who had killed Orton because of his behaviour towards women, particularly, it would seem, towards her. She was appalled that Orton had been murdered on her account. As she had said, she hadn't needed protecting since she was twelve years old.

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She closed the door behind her and slid down to sit on the floor, leaning against it and finally let the tears she had held in check, run down her cheeks, destroying her impeccable make-up.

She must have sat there for at least fifteen minutes, two wrung out to move. It wasn't until the cold of the floor began to nag at her back that she dragged herself upright and headed to the bathroom to wash her face. She leant on the edge of the washbasin and looked in the mirror. She didn't see a grown woman, well groomed and poised, she saw that frightened little girl of years ago, the one who, even at twelve years old would never again let any man do to her what her uncle had done for two years, only stopping when she had begun to menstruate.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She let it ring, she didn't want to speak to anyone and finally it stopped.

She washed her face and changed into a warm robe and went to make a cup of tea.

The phone rang again, almost daring her to answer it. She didn't want to speak to anyone, she wanted to nurse the newly opened wound in peace, in her own time. So she shut it out, sitting on the couch and drawing her knees up to her chin, sipping the warm drink. It stopped, eventually, to her great relief.

She knew she should eat, but the thought of food revolted her. She shivered, but she wasn't cold, it was just the memories.

'Damn that phone!' The persistence of whoever wanted to speak to her was driving her mad. She wanted to rip the cable from the wall and throw the blasted instrument through the window! Again it stopped, just before she decided that she had better answer it. She sighed and went to get a blanket to wrap herself in. She could, of course, just go to bed, but she knew she wouldn't sleep; and if she did she'd only have nightmares; so she decided a blanket, a drink and a book would be her companions for the evening.

She had just started reading when there was a knock on the door. She pulled the blanket tighter round her shoulders and tried to ignore it, but whoever it was, was determined to see her. She sighed, deeply, resigned to the fact she would have to face whoever it was.

She stood at the door, staring at the handle. There was a knock again, insistent. She opened it, just enough to see who her visitor was; Jean. Jean stood on the step a look of concern on her face.

'Alice.' Jean didn't approach, she could see Alice was not exactly happy to have a visitor. 'Lucien was worried about you. You weren't answering the phone. He wanted to come over but I persuaded him that he was probably not the one you wanted to see. You probably would rather I went away too, but...'

Alice's shoulder's dropped. Jean had it in a nutshell, Lucien, sweet and caring as he was, was not the person she needed right now, given his gender. She stepped back and allowed Jean to cross the threshold.

'I'm sorry, Jean.' She said, so quietly it was nearly a whisper, 'I didn't mean for you and Lucien to worry, I just needed some time alone.'

Jean touched her elbow, sympathetically, and she followed Alice through into the living room. They sat on the couch in silence facing one another. Alice shook her head, trying to clear her muddled mind, and realised she hadn't offered Jean a drink, tea or...

'Sorry Jean, I'm so rude.' She apologised, 'would you like some tea, or something?'

'No, thank you, Alice.' Jean smiled, gently.

Alice sighed.

'It all came flooding back.' She murmured. 'The hurt.'

'Alice.' Jean took her hand, 'you don't have to tell me.'

'Maybe it's about time I did tell someone. Someone who won't think I'm a liar.'

'You, a liar?' Jean was horrified that anyone would accuse Alice of telling untruths.

'That's what my mother called me.' Alice whispered, 'when I told her what my uncle did to me.'

The whole sordid tale came out in a rush, the only way she could tell it. If she stopped to analyse what she was saying she would start to cry and she knew if she did she wouldn't be able to stop.

Jean's hand flew to her mouth, she was appalled that Alice had lived with this for so long, that she had tried to tell but no one believed her. She knew this kind of thing happened but had never actually met someone who had experienced such abuse. She opened her arms and took Alice into them as if she was a child. For the second time that day Alice let the tears flow, hot, angry tears, choking sobs; a release long overdue.

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Jean tucked the bedclothes in, settling Alice as if she was a small child.

'I'll come by tomorrow.' Jean stroked her head, 'I'll tell Lucien what happened, if that's ok, and he'll arrange for you to have some time off. Perhaps you'd like to come and stay with us for a few days.'

Alice sniffed, 'I don't know.'

'I only offer quiet, an ear and three meals a day.' Jean's tenderness came through in her voice.

'Thank you.'

'Let me know tomorrow. For now, sleep.'

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Whether Alice would take Jean up on the offer is up to you. I like to think she could accept the help Jean and Lucien offer.

Alice's remark that she hadn't need protecting since she was twelve indicates she was abused as a child, horrific idea, I know.

Reviews and comments welcome as always.


End file.
